


Deep Cover

by BuriedIcon



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Brainwashed, Brainwashing, Erotic Hypnosis, Gen, Hypnosis, Hypnotism, Mind Control, erotic brainwashing, mind controlled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 16:10:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20641973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BuriedIcon/pseuds/BuriedIcon
Summary: Jemma Simmons, top agent, is about to go into deep cover. To do that, she first needs to have her mind wiped, to ensure nothing gets out, but is everything as it seems? Little does she know the job she's going to take is a lot more physical than the job she currently has...





	Deep Cover

This was the worst. It didn't matter how many times Jemma went through it, she really hated the process of going undercover. Yes, it was effective and required to ensure that deep cover agents didn't divulge any information, but there was something unsettling about having your brain rewritten. Sure, it could be undone, but you were still having large parts of your brain suppressed. 

But the job came first, discomfort or not. Hopefully whatever job they were having her do this time wasn't going to last too long. Jemma sat down in the metal chair, trying to focus herself as she felt the metal restraints move over her ankles and wrists. She knew these were needed when it came to being brainwashed, but it didn't make them any more comforting. 

Jemma swallowed thickly as she felt the restraints moving around her forehead, positioning her head so that she wasn't able to look away. Not that she would of course; based on what she remembered of the process, once it began it was impossible for her to look away. That was why they seemed to like using her; her mind took to outside programming better than most. Not that she was proud about that. But again, the job came first. 

She tried to calm her breathing, tried to focus on getting her heart rate down; no need to get too worried before they even began. She didn't know how she'd come out; they never told her before they started for security reasons. She might not even remember it when she was done. They didn't always let you know. It was a scary thought, but the job came first. She had to remind herself about that. The job came first. The job almost came first. 

Finally, a voice spoke. “State your profession and where you work.” It was a robotic voice, intended to ensure that the brain couldn't identify who was speaking. For all she knew it could be one of her teammates, or some tech, or an AI or something. 

“I'm a biochemist, and I work for Shield.” 

There was silence for a few moments, as screens moved into position around Jemma's head. She blinked once, not sure where to focus; experience told her it wouldn't matter. Everywhere she looked, she would see what she was meant to see. 

“State your profession and where you work,” came the voice again, as robotic and neutral as ever. A strange buzzing noise entered her ears in the background, just barely audible, and sometimes slipping out of the audible range, it was almost an annoyance. Almost. 

“I'm a biochemist, and I-” 

Jemma didn't have time to finish her sentence. Suddenly, her vision was bombarded with colors and sights faster than her conscious mind could process. She couldn't look away, couldn't blink, couldn't formulate any thoughts; any attempts to do so were drowned away in the tidal wave of images and colors and sounds. 

A playground. A home. An apartment. Two people having sex. A game console. A headstone. A penis. Two people shopping. A wedding. A woman in heat. A crowd watching a concert. 

What images were important and what images weren't wasn't for her mind to know. It would know. That was how this worked after all. 

Suddenly, the lights and sounds ended. Time had passed, but how much time? Jemma didn't know. Had it been five minutes, or five hours? Nothing seemed to indicate the amount of time that had passed. Her throat was slightly dry, her body slightly warm; that was new, or at least, she thought it was. It was entirely possible that it wasn't and she wasn't remembering it right. Her brain was buzzing with thoughts, as though the release valve had been pulled; probably a result of her thoughts being repressed during the process. 

“State your profession and where you work.” There was the robotic voice again, the same robotic voice that she'd heard before. At least, she thought it was. Jemma was having a hard time remembering exactly what that voice had sounded like. 

“I am a biochemist, and I work for...” Where did she work? She should know that. She should. “I work for... for... Shield.” Yes, Shield. She worked for Shield. She...

Suddenly the colors were back, and her mind shut off once again. She moved faster now, seemingly more randomly, using colors and shapes that she didn't think were possible, or maybe she wasn't remembering them right. 

A fat dog. A woman masturbating. A corndog. A car. A vibrator. A sandwich. A speaker. Two people having sex missionary style. A camera. A truck. A rattle. A woman crying out in ecstasy. A microphone. 

Then the colors shut off. Jemma tried in vain to shift in her seat; it was hotter in here, she was sure of it. She felt slightly sweaty, like she'd done some kind of physical activity, but she knew that she hadn't. In her head, it felt like someone had begun putting cotton between her ears, making it hard to put thoughts together. Not impossible, but also not easy. 

“State your profession and where you work.” There was the voice again. Had it changed again? Was it the same? She couldn't tell. It wasn't important. 

“I am a biochemist, and I work at... I work at...” Where did she work again? The memory escaped her. She tried to remember, tried to grasp where it was that she spent so much of her time. 

Jemma tried again, trying to put her mind on some kind of track that would help her. “I'm a biochemist, and I work at...” Once again, Jemma failed to grasp what she was looking for. She could see herself at work, see herself working, see herself with her friends... but every time they said where they worked, it was like there was static there, blocking everything. 

“State your profession and where you work.” 

“I am a biochemist and-”

The colors were back. The sounds were back. Her mind, like on autopilot, ceased thinking entirely. She could see so much. She wasn't herself. It was like she was someone else entirely. Everything was being jumbled, scrambled up like there was an egg beater being taken to her mind. 

A bird. A plane. A woman being taken from behind and in front. A smile. A window. A vagina. A tree. A flower. A woman orgasming. A statue. A candle. A brothel.   
“State your profession and where you work.” 

The colors were gone. The sounds were gone. And Jemma's head felt as clouded as ever. But she had to answer the question. She always had to answer the question. 

“I'm... I'm...” What did she do for a living again? She should know this. Jemma tried to remember, but she couldn't remember actually doing work. She could remember working on... something, but she couldn't remember what she was actually doing or why. And where did she work? She couldn't remember that either. She just kept drawing a blank. Every train of thought was a dead end. 

“State your profession and where you work.” 

“I... I don't know. I can't remember.” That was the honest answer, wasn't it? 

“State your profession and where you work.” 

“I don't know!” This time, Jemma was more forceful. She really didn't know. Was she supposed to know? Was that important? 

“State your name for the record.” 

“Jemma Simmons-” 

Jemma was about to say more, but instantly the colors and sounds kicked in again. Once again, Jemma's entire world melted in the face of colors she couldn't describe and shapes she couldn't define. She could practically feel her mind melting, feel her life being worn down like an ice cube in the sun. 

An orgy. A television. A paint can. Her in heat. A screwdriver. A washing machine. Her masturbating. A lawnmower. Ice cream. People cumming on her. An airplane. A bus stop. 

Suddenly it all ended again. Jemma whined slightly, feeling a heat between her legs she was certain hadn't been there before. She wanted to touch herself, even if she didn't remember why, but she was bound. She couldn't hope to touch herself. She could only squirm in her seat and hope the feeling of heat beneath her collar went away. 

And her mind was still flooded with images and desires. She could see herself doing... so many things. And she wanted them, didn't she? She did want them. She was sure of that, but...

“State your name for the record.” 

There was the robotic voice again, bringing her out of her thoughts. Stupid robot voice. She knew her name! It was...

“Jemma... Jemma...” What was her last name again? Why didn't she know what it was? Why was it so hard to remember it? “It's Jemma... Simon?” Simone...?” Was she guessing her own last name? Shouldn't she know this? She should. She should know this. She should!

“State your name for the record.” 

“Jemma.” Maybe that was sufficient. Maybe that was fine. After all, it didn't say to state her full name, did it? Maybe that was enough. 

“State your name for the record.” 

“I said it was Jem-”

The roar of the sounds in her ear took a snowplow to her thoughts. The colors and shapes did the rest. 

A keyboard. Her being fucked by someone. A telephone. A window. Her being eaten out. A slingshot. A tomato. Her with a penis in every oriface. A hospital. A locked door. Her bound and gagged, being taken from behind. 

Jemma let out an aroused cry as she sound and colors stopped. She was wet, so very wet, and she couldn't remember why. Why were her clothes so tight now? Why were so many desires on her mind right now? Oh god she needed to get out of here, but she wasn't being allowed to leave. Her body was so sensitive, her skin practically on fire, but the restraints didn't budge. 

“State your name for the record.” 

Jemma opened her mouth, only to close it again. Why was it asking her something like that? Did her name matter? It should... shouldn't it? Her name was probably important. What was her name though? 

“I... My name is...” Why couldn't she remember it? She should know this! It was basic information! She could remember people saying her name, but it was like her name being spoken had been edited out. She couldn't really remember their faces either. Or anything about them. It was like someone had spilled coffee all over her memories. 

“State your name for the record.” 

“I don't remember you-”

If Jemma's mind was fuzzy before, it was practically buried in clouds now. The sounds were louder, the colors more intense, the shapes more bizarre. She couldn't think, didn't want to think. All she could do was listen and watch. Listen, watch... and obey. 

Her in collar, being fucked. A toy car. A guitar. Her being tied up and begging for an orgasm. A block of cheese. A nail file. Her being fucked by several people, one after another. A pizza. A check book. Her letting people cum on her face. A laptop. A beaker. Her tied to a bed with 'available' written above her groin. A cereal box. A doorway. 

“State your purpose.” 

Jemma blinked, her body twitching slightly, trying to move against her restraints. She was sitting in a small pool of her own juices, quietly whimpering in need. She was really, really needy right now. Who cared what the machine said? She needed to get off. She needed to touch herself right now. 

“State your purpose.” 

Something deep within Jemma dragged the answer from her consciousness, as though it was some kind of automatic response. 

“To please and... to please and obey.” She wasn't sure where that came from. She wasn't sure she cared. She just wanted someone, anyone to touch her right now. She needed it. She was sweating a great deal now, squirming as much as she could, trying in vain to satisfy herself. 

“State your purpose.” 

“To please and obey.” 

“State your purpose.” 

“I said, to please and ob-”

Jemma let out a cry as she was overwhelmed by the sensations again. This time, they didn't seem as random. She could feel them, seem them, experience them, like they were happening. Were they happening? Were they memories? Were they hers? She didn't know. She didn't know if it mattered. 

She was being fucked atop a desk by three people, begging for me. She was being stripped while bound, being fondled by strangers. She was being fucked in public, while everyone watched. She was being fucked by a machine, made to cum until she couldn't do so anymore. She was a fuckdoll, just a tool to be used. She was being fucked by so many people, and she didn't care. She just asked for more.

The sounds and colors stopped, Jemma's fluids flowing over the edge of the chair. She let out a whine, as she strained as hard as she could against the restraints. She needed to get out of here. She needed to be fucked right now. 

“State what you are.” 

“I'm a fucktoy.” She was out of breath, needy, her mind a hazy mess of desires and cravings. 

“State what you are.” 

“I'm a fucktoy!” She was louder this time, so damn desperate, so needy. Finally, the screens receded, and her restraints were released. Instantly, Jemma slumped over in her seat. She was so needy. She was so exhausted. But she was certain she was going to fuck the first person she came across... or be fucked by them. Either situation worked in her head. As long as fucking was happening. 

Suddenly, a door opened, and a man walked it. Jemma tried to lift her head, but found she couldn't; it didn't really matter as long as someone, anyone, put a dick in her somewhere. Instead of that, she was simply thrown over the man's shoulder and carried out, much to her dismay, not that she could do anything about it. 

Though while she was being carried out, she thought she heard the two men say something to each other.

'Hail Hydra.'

**Author's Note:**

> So I had this idea while thinking about dreams; I wanted to do something where you were reading from the perspective of a character that was dealing with subliminal messages and where they themselves were slowly watching their own mind falling away. I didn't want this one to get too long either, but I think it was a fun sort of writing experiment. As always, please feel free to give feedback, I'd love to keep improving my writing.


End file.
